


Pushing Boundries

by GentleTouchGinger, ilarual (Ilarual)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, SoMa Week 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleTouchGinger/pseuds/GentleTouchGinger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilarual/pseuds/ilarual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of SoMa Oneshots for SoMa Week 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roommates

Being Maka’s roommate was one of the greatest parts of Soul’s life, yet also one of the worst. 

She had her good qualities as a roommate, always cleaning stuff up, getting him up in the morning, making sure he washed and ate right. 

But Death, could she be annoying! Nagging him about washing his clothes, doing his homework, brushing his teeth, shampooing his hair every night, eating vegetables, and taking on so many more “mom” duties he wanted to burst.

Some part of him appreciated it a good bit, but right now he wanted to throw her entire bookshelf out the window. 

"What does it matter if I wash my face in the morning or not?" 

"It’s gross, Soul, it’ll get all greasy!" 

"Why do you care?" 

"Just do it, Soul!" 

"You’re not my Mom, Maka!" 

"Soul, why can’t you just do it?" 

"Because I don’t wanna!" 

"Maka-chop!" A crack reverberated around the apartment as she smacked a book against his head.

"I’ll go and wash my face now…" Soul moaned from the ground.


	2. Nosebleed

When she found him, the first thing she noticed was the nosebleed. 

It seemed normal enough. His nose was always bleeding, whenever she smacked him with a novel, or when Blair tried to get him to play. 

But nothing was natural about the way he was slumped and lying on the ground, or the collection of shockingly scarlet blood staining his midsection. 

He’d been gone for days. Of course, he hadn’t thought to tell her that he was going to finish that Kishan-egg off by himself. It’d been a nasty fight, and Maka had made a mistake getting herself hurt. 

The cut wasn’t too bad, but it was big enough that they’d had to flee. Soul must have been upset, furious with the damn thing, but he’d kept it all in. 

And then there’d been the search parties, and the tears, and the pleading for someone to do something! He was her partner, he was missing, he could be hurt, or scared, or in pain or dying and all she could do was wait. 

Until she started to let the idea that she’d never see him again creep into her, and that’s how she knew where he was. 

The woods were misty and wet, the tree trunks richly dark with water and the underbrush glistening with it’s shiny coat. 

And the leaves glistened with smears of crimson, when she found him, his nose still bleeding and his eyes glazed over, their gaze still fixed on the blur of leaves blocking out the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone had to do horrible angst...


	3. Insanity

Fighting against Ashura was one of the most terrifying things Maka’d ever had to do. When it came down to the final moments, she knew what to do and was able to do it calmly, but the night before, she was insane with fear. 

She knew the others were afraid as well. Liz had told her after the battle they’d seen a terrifying side of Kid that was brought out by fear. Apparently he had started yelling at Patty when she asked about shifting into human form to help him if he got hurt, scaring her so badly she’d ran into out of the room. When Liz turned to yell at Kid for scaring Patty, she’d been horrified to see that he was in tears, begging Liz to stay in her weapon form and to make Patty to, no matter what happened. 

Maka wasn’t afraid just for herself (though she was a good bit). She was mostly afraid fro Soul. Her loyal weapon would do anything to avoid even the slightest injury to her. 

What if it ended up like it had in that chapel so many months ago? What if Soul got hurt again? What if he died? What if she died? 

What if they all died? Would this be the end of the DWMA? 

She didn’t sleep at all that night. Around one in the morning, the crazy idea had flashed through her head to go and see if Soul was having better luck at sleeping than her. 

His lights were off, but when she opened the door he sat up in bed, his hair sticking up in all sorts of directions and drifting in front of his gaze. 

"What’s up?" 

"I…uh, just came to see if you were sleeping alright. Want my weapon in tip-top shape for tomorrow!" She grinned cheekily, stepping closer to his bed. 

"Well, I’m sleeping fine. You’re the one who needs to be in tip-top shape. Go and sleep, Maka." 

"I can’t." 

"Maka-" 

"It’s driving me crazy, Soul! What if we all die tomorrow? What if I’m not strong enough? What if Ashura wins and the world is engulfed in madness? It’d be our fault! Th-the fear…it’s driving me crazy Soul!"

Soul had the nerve to crack a grin, his sharpened teeth flashing in the dimly lit room.

"Soul! What the hell!"

"It’s just…we’re fighting insanity tomorrow. It’s supposed to rid you of fear, yet your fear is what’s driving you insane." 

Maka stared at him, her expression deadly calm. Then, she beamed back at him. “This is sorta funny.” She started to laugh, sitting on the end of Soul’s bed. 

"Maka?"

She clutched her stomach, the laughter almost uncontrollable. “Th-that’s really-really funny, Soul.” Her throat was sore from laughter yet swollen with unshed sobs. “I-I can’t,” her voice broke mid laugh. 

"Maka!" He scrambled out from underneath the covers, running to his meister’s side. "Maka, you-you’re…" He lifted an arm to put around her shoulder, but held it back, afraid she’d see the touch in the wrong light. "You’re scaring me, Maka." 

Her body shook with sobbs now. “Soul, what are we going to do?” 

"Hey, hey," Soul mumbled, obviously clueless on how to help. "We won’t…I…no one’s gonna die." 

Maka didn’t answer, and Soul finally rested his arm on her shoulder. “Maka, please don’t…don’t freak out, alright? It’s totally uncool.” 

Soul felt the black blood pulling at him, trying to pull him into the madness. But he pushed it down, tightening his grip on his trembling meister. 

He couldn’t give into the insanity. He had to stay sane. 

For her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab with ilaural(TheMelonLordApproves)! She did a lot of the work...:P She's posted it on here too; http://archiveofourown.org/works/1358875

Had the clock on their living room wall always been this loud? Soul would swear it had an echo. It was an antique, a gift from Spirit Albarn a few Christmases ago in an attempt to win back his daughter’s affections. Maybe it was ticking so loud because it was malfunctioning. Was that a kind of malfunction fancy old clocks could have? He should stop winding it, then it wouldn’t tick at all. But if he stopped winding it, he wouldn’t know what time it was and he wouldn’t know how much longer it would be before Maka got back from the meisters-only lesson.

Oh wait. Yes he would. He had a phone.

Geez he was dumb when he was nervous, wasn’t he?

Soul fidgeted, tugging absently at the cozy afghan draped over the back of the couch, until he realized what he was doing and promptly stopped. He eyed the two stacks of envelopes sitting on the coffee table rather the way one might look at a nest of spiders.

The thing was, Maka was an insanely talented meister. She was one of the youngest people in history to create a death scythe, and a Shibusen legacy kid at that. She was smart. She was pretty. She was funny. She was kind (as long as she wasn’t pissed at you, in which case she became hardbound-wielding death-on-legs). She was friendly. She was the kind of meister every weapon dreamed of having.

And Soul? Well, Soul had always been a little insecure, and becoming a death scythe didn’t change that. So when he discovered the first partnership request stuck through the vent of her locker when he was grabbing her forgotten jacket for her, he couldn’t help but fear that she might accept. Maybe not Barnaby Mills, because that asthmatic excuse for a rapier wasn’t even close to Maka’s level, but if a weedy kid like Barnaby was trying his hand, it was only a matter of time before others did. He certainly had been getting a steady trickle of them. And if Maka got a letter from a weapon she actually wanted to work with… what was stopping her? After all, she was done with him. She’d made a death scythe. What more did she need him for?

Logically, Soul knew that wasn’t rational. Maka cared about him. They were roommates, they were friends- best friends, even. She wasn’t going to go dumping him for some fancy new weapon she could also turn into a death scythe. Hopefully. But when it came to self-doubt, Soul was a certified professional, and he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut when he contemplated the idea that Maka had other options.

So, really, that was why he’d done it. He’d stolen Barnaby Mills’ letter and every one thereafter. He’d gone out of his way to reach her locker before she did every day before school, and if she needed anything between classes he would usually volunteer to fetch it for her. At first she had commented on his uncharacteristic display of chivalry, but after a week or so of this behavior, she seemed to get accustomed to it and didn’t question it any more. Soul took every opportunity to clear out her locker and make sure none of the partnership requests ever reached their intended recipient.

It was selfish, especially considering his own stream of partnership requests, love letters, and in-person confessions. Still, there was absolutely no chance in hell of him leaving his beloved meister, so that was a moot point anyway. Maka, though…

He just couldn’t take the chance.

The idea of Maka leaving, of her packing her bags and moving off Somewhere Else to live with another partner, was painful. The idea of her wielding someone else, with no guarantees that her new weapon wouldn’t be willing to lay down his life to keep her safe if the situation became dire was terrifying.

And so, morally questionable or not, Soul continued to steal her letters.

He read them all, scoffing at the other weapons’ piss-poor attempts to sound impressive enough to deserve a meister like Maka. But then a note arrived in her locker from a boy a grade younger that Soul was absolutely positive was a meister. He hadn’t been able to fathom why a meister would be sending another meister a partnership request… and then he had read it, and realized that the kid was suggesting an entirely different kind of partnership.

Soul didn’t consider himself a jealous person by nature, but the mere idea of having to watch his meister date someone else was nauseating. Not that he had any plans to act on the feelings he might or might not have for said meister, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

The letters from weapons, he opened. One or two of them were love letters as well, but they were few and far between. Not many people wanted to profess their undying devotion to Death Scythe’s daughter. The letters from people he knew were meisters, he left unopened. He kept them sorted into love letters and partnership requests and stuck them under his bed where Maka was unlikely to find them. It was a good system, he thought. Maka couldn’t miss what she never knew was there in the first place, right?

It wasn’t until after the Book of Eibon that Soul really started to think about the consequences of his actions.

The thing was, it had never once occurred to him that maybe Maka felt insecure sometimes, too. In hindsight, it seemed so obvious, but until he was confronted with the reality of her uncertainty and doubt, he had never even dreamed that she could think she wasn’t good enough or that he would ever want someone else. True, she had once said something about not receiving any requests herself, but it had seemed like such a throwaway comment that he hadn’t paid much attention, and responded idiotically with some snarky insult to her figure.

Way to go, Soul, that was probably great for her self-esteem, he berated himself.

Now that he thought about it, his attempts to play it cool with Maka really just ended up with him looking like an asshole, didn’t they? Maybe he should stop trying so hard to hide how he really felt, because all this faking wasn’t very productive.

Whatever. That was an issue for another day. Right now he had to deal with the fact that Maka had legitimately thought that she was inadequate, that she wasn’t a good enough meister for him. Whether a part of her still thought that or whether he’d successfully convinced her that she was the only partner for him was irrelevant. The fact that such an idea could even enter her head wasn’t cool at all, and he wasn’t going to let this continue.

He just hoped she wasn’t going to murder him once he fessed up.

The door abruptly swung open with a little more force than usual, and Soul most definitely did not jump several feet in the air when it rebounded off the wall. While he was re-composing himself and trying to remember how to sit casually and make it look like his heart wasn’t beating several thousand times faster than it should because he apparently couldn’t handle loud noises now (seriously, what the fuck, he wasn’t a jumpy person), Maka came in, her arms full of a stack of books that wouldn’t fit into her bulging school bag.

"Sorry. Had to open the door with my foot, got a little carried away," she said, depositing her armload on the kitchen counter. "Hey, is that the mail? Looks like there’s an awful lot."

"Uh…"

"Oh god. Did Blair sign herself up for a couple thousand mailing lists again? Because that was a nightmare last time, I thought we were going to drown in paper before we finally-"

"Hey Maka?"

She paused, her hand halfway extended to pull a drinking glass down from the cabinet. “What?”

"Could you come here for a second? I had something I wanted to talk to you about."

Abandoning her quest for a refreshing beverage, Maka crossed the floor to where he was tapping his fingers nervously against his knees, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s up?”

Soul took a deep breath, steeling himself. This was it. She was probably going to hate him and any already slim chance he had of ever becoming more than friends with her was going to vanish. But it would be worth it for Maka to know just how valuable everyone around her thought she was, how much their peers admired and respected her. Right?

God, stop overthinking shit, dumbass.

"I, uh, wanted to give you these," he said. He picked up the first stack of letters on the table before him, the pile of strictly professional partnership requests that had been opened and read, and handed the mass of envelopes to her.

She stared at them in confusion. “What’s this?”

Soul huffed out a heavy breath, trying to slow his heartbeat. “They’re, uh, partnership requests. For you. I took them from your locker.”

Maka tilted her head for a moment, letting that sink in. She flipped through the letters briefly, not really looking at them, just processing. “You… stole these?” she asked slowly.

Yep, here it comes…

"Yeah."

Now come on, dipshit, apologize for being such an insecure fuckhead before she really blows up and you end up destroying your partnership anyway!

Soul opened his mouth to speak, but Maka beat him to the punch.

"I can’t believe yo- I mean, I… why would you do that?"

The look on her face cut him to the core. She was clearly livid, but angry Maka he could deal with. It was the sadness and hurt lurking behind it, and the spark of hope he could feel in her soul that maybe he had a good explanation for his actions so that she wouldn’t have to be upset with him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “I guess I just… thought that if you didn’t know you had options, you wouldn’t leave.” It was no good excuse and he knew it.

Maka huffed angrily, but her eyes were so, so sad. She opened and shut her mouth several times, trying to come up with words, and Soul wished she would just yell at him. He wished she would lash out and vent her anger because he knew how to deal with that, and he deserved it anyway because he’d been stupid, and anger could be spent and then it was over, but the look of hurt on her face… that, he didn’t know how to deal with. He’d made her angry plenty of times, but he’d never really hurt her before, never given her any reason to doubt him.

"I… don’t know what to say," she said finally. "I’m gonna… I’m just gonna go… be alone for awhile." She turned on her heel and marched into her bedroom. The sound of the door slamming behind her wasn’t as loud as the front door had been, but Soul thought it was a far more painful sound.

Now he’d really gone and done it. He’d stolen from her. He’d lied to her and hid things from her and betrayed her trust. He supposed that in the end he really wasn’t any better than her no-good father after all.

As soon as Maka walked into her room, she threw the conglomeration of envelopes and paper scraps onto her bed, a few striking the floor and making surprisingly sharp “clicks” as they landed. She paced across the floor, hands clenched into fists, the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into her palms dulled by the roar of fury surging through her like hot air.

He had no right, no right to take these! These were hers! Just because they were partners didn’t give him the excuse to…to snoop in her stuff and keep things from her! She’d never, ever, do that to him! There were so many times where he’d wanted privacy and she’d given it to him! He hadn’t told her about the Black Blood, or his nightmares, or any of his issues and she hadn’t pressed him. Why had he invaded her privacy so thoroughly? All those times where she’d thought he was being kind…he’d been stealing from her?

Stealing, that’s what this was. He’d stolen letters from her!

Part of her wanted to storm out of her room and scream at him. There were so many things she could tell him, so many ways she could hurt him. That she wouldn’t be his partner anymore, that she’d never cared about him, that he was a huge jerk whom she never wanted to see again. Honestly, Maka wasn’t too sure he’d fight back if she yelled at him right now.

She spun around to do just that, but slipped on one of the notes that had fallen to the ground and tore it. The ripping sound drew her attention, and she stopped in her tracks, looking down to examine the torn paper.

The note was written ridiculously formally, as if a partnership was nothing more than a business contract. It was dotted with big, fancy words- several of them misused- and signed in ridiculously loopy script. Despite everything, she smiled. The weapon was well below her level, Maka doubted he’d been on more than two missions, and she’d bet they all were supervised.

She walked over to the window and placed her arms on the sun-warmed sill, looking out over Death City. She could see the Academy from here, and the tip of the Gallows, the mansion where Kid, Liz, and Patty lived. In cat form, Blair was stalking a rat on the street below.

Death City was her home, it always had been, ever since she was a little kid. Though there was more to a home than just some walls. This place was full of people that loved her and cared about her, many that would lay down their lives for her. One that had on multiple occasions.

God, Soul really could be an idiot sometimes. Why had he hidden all these requests? She turned and sat on her bed, shuffling through the envelopes. All of them were like the first, formally written and most from weapons well below her level. Why had Soul felt threatened by these? Why had he felt threatened at all? There was no way she’d stop being his partner, not after everything they’d been through together. Had she ever told him how much she valued their partnership, or made sure he knew that his becoming a death scythe didn’t change a thing, at least as far as she was concerned?

No, she hadn’t. She hadn’t felt she needed to, because of course Soul would know she was in this for the long haul. It went without saying, or so she’d thought. Apparently not. Maybe this was partially her fault? She’d never understood why, but she had often gotten the sense that Soul had some deep-seated insecurities weighing him down… yet another thing he never opened up to her about.

She felt anger flare in her blood again at the thought of just how closed-off Soul still remained with her. Being open with people wasn’t easy for her either, but she still made an effort, dammit! She had shared with him all her secrets- well, most of them anyway. She wasn’t asking for the same from him, but it wasn’t too much to ask that he trust her, was it?

It hurt her that he didn’t trust her not to go off and with some random weapon. Worse, he’d not only proved how little he trusted her; he’d also violated her privacy and hidden things from her.

And yet a part of her was forced to admit, however reluctantly, that Soul had looked really sad and scared when he’d handed over the stack of envelopes. His actions, however hurtful, hadn’t been malicious. He’d been genuinely afraid she would leave him, and Maka knew all too well how bitter that tasted. She couldn’t fault him for feeling desperate, even if the solution he’d come to was totally reprehensible.

Why did he always have to make things so complicated?

Maka walked over to the door, touching the knob gingerly. They’d have to talk about this, but Maka didn’t know what to say to him. Surely he realized how deeply wrong his actions were, or he wouldn’t have shown her the letters, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet.

But he needed to know, right now that she would never, ever leave him. She turned the knob and stepped into the apartment’s main room, walking over to the sofa where he was seated.

"Soul…" she muttered, eyes glued to the carpet, working hard to keep her fists from clenching, "Why did you do this? I thought you knew I would never leave you for any of these weapons, Soul. I’d never leave you for anyone. So…why?"

Soul looked up sharply at the sound of Maka’s door squeaking open. Okay, now she looked mad, which was good because he could take the anger. Unfortunately, she still looked deeply hurt, which was not so good because he didn’t know how to fix it.

"I’m really really sorry, Maka," he said. "It was dumb and uncool and I really wish I hadn’t done it."

"That’s not what I asked," she gritted out, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"Maka, I-"

"Soul, how could you- no, why? Why did you? These were mine, you snooped in my stuff and you didn’t trust me not to go running off. Why?!”

"I’m a Death Scythe now…" he muttered. "I thought you might wanna- I thought you’d want to train another weapon. You’re always talking about being a great meister like your mom, and… well, I thought you were done with me."

God, it sounded so stupid when he put it like that. He was an adult, dammit, he didn’t need to have his hand held. If Maka had wanted to train another weapon, that would have been her prerogative, and he should have just sucked it up and dealt with it.

Maka wanted very badly to hold onto her anger, but she had finally raised her eyes to meet his and he looked terrible. Nothing had physically changed in the ten minutes she had spent fuming in her room, but he still somehow managed to appear more haggard than he had when she’d arrived home. It was really difficult to keep being furious with him when he looked like a whipped puppy. She sighed, and crossed her arms defensively across her chest.

"That’s stupid," she grumbled. "Even leaving aside the fact that I would never, never leave you… we’re in the middle of a war, Soul! The fact that you think I’d want another weapon is dumb enough, but thinking I’d go off and take on a rookie now of all times, with Asura on the loose is just… I mean, dear Death, Soul, what were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?”

"Maka, I already said I was sorry!" he snapped, fighting the urge to growl at her. "How many times do I have to tell you what I did was wrong? I’m not going to make that mistake again, and I’m sorry! You have a right to be angry, just-"

"Just what, Soul? Not pretend that it didn’t hurt me?"

His burst of frustration flickered out and he visibly deflated. “I guess not,” he said more calmly. “Look, Maka, if you’re gonna be pissed at me, I guess you might as well know all of it.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ones he had left behind, the letters from meisters and weapons alike, some full of passion, others oddly business like, others only a few words with a meeting place.

"They’re love letters, Maka. I-" he hung his head, "I took these too. I’m sorry Maka, I really am. I shouldn’t have taken any of it."

Maka reached out and plucked the envelopes from his hand. Numbly, she flipped through them, glancing at the names and taking in a few flowery professions of devotion that she didn’t buy even for a second. After a long period of silence, she looked up.

Soul had not moved since handing over the stack of confessions. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and his head was down, awaiting her judgment.

"Why?" Maka muttered, "Soul-this, why? Why would you take these?"

He kicked at the carpet, a shuffling, frustrated little motion. “Same reason as the others, basically,” he explained sourly. “Guess I really am kind of a needy, insecure piece of shit, huh?”

Self-deprecation wasn’t Soul’s usual modus operandi; in her experience, Soul usually preferred to cover up any negativity he was feeling towards himself with bravado, at least outwardly. He’d never been the type to patch up fights between them by external displays of self-flagellation. The fact that he was so vocal about this wasn’t like him, which made her wonder…

"Is that really all there is to it, Soul?" she asked.

"I don’t know, Maka," he spat, running a hand through his hair. "I just-" He took a sharp breath through his nose. "I just, did, okay? It was a crappy thing to do, because you’re-to me Maka, you’re…" God, he couldn’t tell her. No way. "You’re my partner, and I didn’t want you leaving me."

Oh death, it was so hard to be mad at him when he was so damn sincere, and even harder because she knew the feeling. She’d spent enough time fretting over her inadequacy to be Soul’s meister- in fact had almost ended their partnership over it- that she couldn’t blame him for succumbing to the same fears.

Maka crossed the room to sit beside him on the couch, reaching out shyly to lace her fingers through his. His soft intake of breath when she did so did not escape her, and she was much too pleased by it.

"It… wasn’t okay, what you did," she said softly. "It makes me feel like you didn’t trust me to stay loyal to you, and that hurts. But I need you to know that I’m not ever going to leave you. If you ever decide to end this partnership, if that’s what you need, I won’t stop you, but that’s the only way we’re splitting up, okay? I’m not going anywhere, and I would never let anybody come between us. Besides-” she added, with a laugh that was more casual than she actually felt at saying at something so daring, “-why would I even want a boyfriend when I have you?”

Soul blushed deeply, surprised at how cool she was being about this. “I’m not-I’d never leave you, Maka. So I guess we’re staying partners for a while, huh?”

Maka settled into the sofa cushions, leaning her cheek on Soul’s shoulder and relaxing against him. “Yep, you’re stuck with me,” she said.

Trying very hard not to read too much into what she’d said, Soul wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulder. “Good,” he replied, hoping he didn’t sound as ridiculously elated as he felt.

Maka turned her head and hid her broad grin against his shirt. “I’m still mad at you, you know,” she said, although she was having an awfully hard time sounding like it at the moment.

"I know. And I was serious about regretting it Maka, I’ll never do something that lame ever again, I promise," he replies, giddy at the amount of physical contact he was sharing with her right now.

"You better not," she said, and she even managed to make it sound almost threatening.

She wasn’t done being annoyed with him just yet, but then again that was nothing new. They’d had more than enough spats in their partnership that something like this was nothing that couldn’t be overcome. If they could have the kinds of arguments they used to have early in their acquaintance but still care for and respect each other, then a breach of privacy could be dealt with in time. She’d make Soul pay in full for his misdeeds and then all would be right in the world.

She’d get on that soon, she decided as she snuggled just that little bit closer to him. Yeah… just as soon as he stopped being so warm and comfortable.

Soul stiffened slightly as Maka snuggled up next to him, but eventually relaxed and pulled her closer to him. Goddammit, why did she look so cute? He wasn’t sure what had brought on the sudden affection, but he decided not to question his good fortune. God only knew he was going to want the happy memories once the cuddling stopped and the penance set in- which, if he knew his meister at all, would include at the very least more than his fair share of Maka-chops for the next few weeks.

He rested his head against hers, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair, and smiled. He might be a complete dumbass, but he was a complete dumbass with a meister who, for some inexplicable reason, was as dedicated to him as he was to her. And that, in Soul’s opinion, was pretty damn wonderful.


	5. Wounds

"Mama? Why do you and Daddy get hurt all the time?”

I looked down at my three year-old daughter, trying not to feel guilted by her wide, pink eyes looking at me puppishly. Her hair was much lighter than mine, probably because of Soul’s snowy masterpiece. I sighed.

 

“We’ve got an important job,” I answered, lifting her into my arms. “Daddy and I fight to keep everyone safe. Sometimes we get hurt. Sometimes it’s kind of scary. But we always come out okay. I’ve got Daddy, and Daddy’s got me. Maybe someday you can fight too.”

 

She pulled on one of my pigtails, and squirmed to be put down. I obliged, wondering if she understood what I was talking about.

 

“Mama…” she groaned. “I’m hungry!”

“Alright, I’ll get you a snack,” I said, walking over to the cupboard and stretching up to grab her some crackers.

Pain erupted in my shoulder, and I fell back, landing on my knees. I didn’t realize I had called out until I heard my family answering me.

“Mama!”

“Maka!”

Soul tore out of our room, and somehow was by my side before our daughter was. “Maka, why’d you reach like that? I think you ripped the stitches!”

“I was just trying to get a snack-”

“Maka, Stein told you not to lift with that arm!”

There was a sudden wail, and I turned to see that our daughter was crying.

“Doll, it’s alright,” I cooed immediately, pulling her into my lap. “I’m okay, I just wasn’t careful enough.”

“Mama, wh-why do you have to fight?!” she cried, burying her face in my chest. “I-I don’t want you to g-get hurt anymore!”

I looked at Soul, meeting his gaze. He seemed shocked and terrified by her behavior.

“Look at me,” I asked her, and she lifted her head, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “We are going to fight. Sometimes we’ll get hurt, sometimes we’ll be gone for a while. But we will always come back to you. There’s nothing in this world that could stop us from coming home to you. There’s no need for you to be scared for us.”

I felt Soul’s fingers brushing my wound. “There’s blood-we’ll need to go to the Academy and get it restitched.”

I stood up. “Wanna come too?” I asked our daughter, taking her hand.

She nodded, latching herself onto my leg.

As we walked out the door, I said quietly, “Be brave, Kami.”


	6. Bandages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU: Maka’s a ER nurse and Soul is a guy who’s trapped in an abusive relationship.

The first time, Maka had treated him exactly like every other person who’d ended up in the ER, even though it was three in the morning, and even though she was exhausted and shaken from treating second degree burns on a three year old child.

“Someone’s already taken your blood pressure, weight, height-“ 

“Yes,” the man answered, his voice full of frustration. “Listen there’s glass in my arm, and it hurts like hell. Could you just get it out of there? As soon as possible?”

“We’re moving as quickly as we can, sir,” she replied spitefully. “I can give you some mild painkillers, but you’re going to have to wait ten to twenty minutes for a doctor.”

“Goddammit! I shoulda gone to Nason. At least they’ve got soda and shit.”

Maka bit a snappy remark down and stayed silent. She walked over to the man and wet a cotton ball, wiping the dried blood off his arm.

“Ow! Damn it that hurts!” he roared, yanking his arm away.

“That glass is in deep, what happened?”

“None of your business. I just want it out,” he said bitterly.

Despite his snark, she felt kind of bad for him. It was obvious he was in some sort of situation he couldn’t control.

A doctor walked in, and Maka was very happy to see that it was Dr. Nygus, the only black female ER doctor in the entire city. Before she’d been employed here, Maka had worked as her intern, and she had great respect for the woman. 

—-

Gauze in one hand and an alcohol-soaked cotton ball in the other, Maka quickly stopped the bleeding everytime Dr. Nygus pulled a chunk of glass out. It took an hour to get all of it out, and when it was done, Dr. Nygus went to write a prescription and asked Maka to bandage his arm.

“Hold still,” she ordered, taking the bandage and wrapping it around his forearm.

He was a little loopy because of the pain meds. She figured he’d be staying here until they wore off. It was four-thirty in the morning now. Her shift would be over at six. Getting him into a hospital room would be a great way not to get stuck with another patient.

“Alright, we’re going to move you upstairs,” she announced, wheeling a chair into his room and helping him into it.

Sudden fear erupted in his eyes. “No, I have to-to get back. I gotta go home, they’ll be crazy mad when they find out I went here…”

“Someone’s going to be mad you went to a hospital?”

“I just hav’ta go. There’s more shit I gotta do….and god, they’re gonna be so pissed at me.”

He looked afraid. Maka immediately assumed an abusive relationship, maybe with his parents or a girlfriend? What was she supposed to do? It was obvious he was too afraid to seek help…

Maybe the best course of action would be to offer it secretly.

“Are you…involved in something? I’m not going to-there’s rules about patient confidentially. What ever you tell me that’s related to your injury, I am legally obliged to keep it between us.”

“I told you, it’s none of your-“ 

“Let me help you. How about this? Next time you get out of whack, call me. I’ll come and fix you up, so you don’t have to sneak to the hospital or anything like that.” She grabbed a pen and scribbled her number on his good hand.

He looked up at her. “Why?”

“Because I’m a nice person, dummy,” she said as she wheeled him out of the hall and to the elevators. “And because I can tell you’re stuck in something nasty.”

—-

And weeks later she awoke to the shining light of her vibrating phone at two in the morning, and drove into the city slums to stitch up a gash on his back. Then she fixed a dislocated shoulder, and soon he was asking her to pick him up in the strangest places, and one night he showed up on her doorstep, covered in bruises and blood.

There was something fulfilling, though, about wrapping him in all these bandages. Each time, she learned a little more about him, saw the leftovers of his life„ and now she slept with her phone on.

And sometimes she wouldn’t hear from him for weeks, and feared the worst.

But he always came back, for months he came back and eventually she was bandaging more than his skin.


	7. First "I love you"

She didn’t think he heard the first one. He was unconscious, or very nearly so, and the pain of the rip in his chest probably had dulled anything around him into white noise. But she’d whispered it, in her shaky voice, just as the realization flashed through her that she was about to die.

The second one didn’t come until years later, lying between the same sheets, her fingers learning the feel and slope of his chest and the rise and grove of his scar. She knew he heard it, because his heart pulsed to a new beat, bringing a soft blush to his cheek.

The false, yellowish light creeping into the room from behind the cracked bathroom door made his features just visible. Even in grayscale, she could still see the glint of his sharp teeth and the strange, hopeful look in his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered back, and his voice was so open and light. He said it so steadily, there was no way it was his first one. Perhaps he had said it late at night over her sleeping form, or sometime when she was hurt and too delirious to hear his words. Maybe he’d said it under his breath, or in his head, hundreds of times, practicing just for this moment.

But it was the first one she heard, the first time his eyes were looking into hers with that expression, the first time the soft touches actually replaced words.

There were so many more important “firsts” than “I love you”, but somehow it was the only one she could remember.


End file.
